


Random Turns (for the Better)

by msraven



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, FBI Agent Phil, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Magic, Magic User Clint, Magic-Users
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-07
Updated: 2015-01-07
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msraven/pseuds/msraven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the moment FBI Agent Phil Coulson meets his new partner, magic user and master archer Clint Barton, he learns to expect the unexpected. He's not wrong. </p><p>Five times Clint does something unexpected and one time Phil beats him to it. (A non-SHIELD AU written for the Clint/Coulson Holiday Exchange.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Random Turns (for the Better)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cakeisnotpie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/gifts).



> Special thanks, as always, to my awesome beta kultiras who helps make all my fics possible. ♥

**1\. The Interrogation Room**

Phil slides silently into the observation room and walks over to stand next to Nick at the two-way mirror. Nick is Phil's oldest friend, his boss, and head of the FBI's new Magical Crimes Unit. Phil has worked for the MCU since it's inception nearly three years ago, helping to recruit the right agents they needed and quickly cementing their reputation as one of the most successful units in the Bureau. 

He glances inside the interrogation room and his stomach swoops in sudden and immediate appreciation. The man inside might well have been pulled from Phil's fantasies, because he's physically everything that Phil looks for in a partner. He's ruggedly handsome, well muscled, and carries an air of danger around him that is easily visible even through the glass. Phil lets his eyes rake over the mystery man as he leans back in his seat and props his feet up on the table, Phil's eyes lingering on his broad chest, shoulders, and amazing arms.

"New case?" Phil asks, forcing his eyes away from the interrogation room and toward Nick.

"No. You remember the guy that helped Romanoff out a few months ago?" Phil nods. Natasha Romanoff is the only undercover agent working with the MCU, due largely to Nick having enticed her over from the CIA. "She finally convinced him to come in."

" _That's_ Hawkeye?" Phil's eyes turn back to the man in question as he leans further back, balancing the chair on its back legs and resting his arms behind his head.

"Clint Barton, a.k.a. Hawkeye. Rumor links him to several major crime syndicates in the Underground, though he's never been charged with anything other than shoplifting from back when he was ten. Performed with Carson's Carnival of Traveling Wonders as their Master Marksman for over a decade until they parted ways for unknown reasons. He's registered as a level three."

The statistics of magical ability are well known, a declining exponential scale with a large majority of the population having no powers and numbers dropping significantly after that. Phil is a high level one, which does nothing more than give him better-than-average reflexes and allow him to identify magical artifacts by touch. Threes and fours are popular in the entertainment industry, while fives and sixes typically end up as pharmacists or plastic surgeons. Level sevens are extremely rare and are often scooped up by government agencies to be secreted away when they do surface. So far, there hasn't been a registered level eight within Phil's lifetime and he shudders to think how much chaos someone with that much magical ability could wreak.

Registration age varies from country to country, though the scale is common across all. The U.S. requires all of its citizens to be tested and registered at fifteen, just after their abilities stabilize, while others wait until the age of eighteen. All incoming visitors must also be registered per the guidelines of their home country unless their policy has been deemed too lax by the State Department. There are exceptions, of course, typically those seeking asylum from countries where they still view magic as an abomination or a plague that needs eradicating. Natasha Romanoff was one such exception, much to the benefit of the CIA and now the MCU.

"He's going to turn state's evidence?"

"Not quite." There's something in Nick's voice that makes a chill run down Phil's spine. 

Before Phil can question Nick further, Barton drops his feet to the floor and sits up, looking directly at the two-way mirror and meeting Phil's eyes through the glass. Barton's eyes—whose color Phil can't quite discern—dance with amusement as he moves his hand, palm up over the table. A ball of fire appears hovering over his hand and with a quick flick, a second ball flies out of the first and arcs over to his other hand. Barton smirks and repeats the movement until he's effortlessly juggling eight balls of flame between his hands. It would be nothing but an amusing trick if not for the fact that Barton is a registered level three. Level threes and fours can only manipulate, not conjure; an ability that separates performers from professionals. 

Barton is clearly not a level three. It means that he was either incorrectly rated— which is unlikely—or he was able to fool the registrar. If the latter is true, then Barton is strong enough to be a major threat or an incredible asset. 

Phil doesn't move his gaze off the flames dancing between Barton's hands. "He's willing to work with us?" _With me?_

"Yes."

Barton suddenly brings his hands together, catching and enveloping the balls of flame, and then opens them to reveal nothing but a puff of smoke. Tendrils of smoke uncurl from between Barton's hands and stretch toward the glass separating them, coalescing into a messy scrawl of words.

 _Don't be shy, handsome. Come in and say hello._ Phil's eyebrows go up while Nick stifles a laugh beside him, watching as the smoke shifts. _I promise not to bite,_ it says and then shifts again. _Unless you want me to._

"So, Agent Coulson. Are you ready to meet your new partner?"

Phil glances at Nick and then back into the interrogation room where Barton is now shaping the smoke into a variety of animals, all in different sexual positions. Somehow, he knows he'll never be ready for where life with Barton will take him.

*  
~~  
~~~~  
^

**2\. The Roof**

"Can I be the bad cop this time?"

Phil holds back his sigh knowing it will only encourage Barton's continued belief that he should act like he's in the midst of a televised detective drama. 

"No one would believe you're a cop, bad or otherwise."

"You ruin all my fun," Barton pouts and Phil struggles not to find it adorable.

Their partnership has gone much smoother than Phil would have anticipated, considering their differences. Phil was born to two loving parents and grew up in a middle class suburban neighborhood outside of Chicago. Clint refuses to speak of his childhood, but Phil knows he was born in Iowa, had been orphaned at a young age, and was raised in the circus. Phil has spent his entire adulthood being trained by and working for either US Army or the FBI, while there is no record of Clint ever being formally educated or officially employed. Phil is the Agent's Agent—solid, stoic, and dependable. Clint is mouthy, crass, and could annoy the Pope into losing his temper. They shouldn't work, yet they do.

They work, because underneath all of Clint's bluster is a kind heart, a brave soul, and the sharpest mind Phil has ever encountered. Not only does Clint have amazing eyesight, but he has an eye for detail and the ability to look at a crime scene from multiple angles, playing a great sounding board when Phil brainstorms ideas. They've closed four cases in the three months that Clint's been with the Bureau and are currently on their way to investigate a fifth.

"Mr. Smithers is a person of interest, not a suspect," Phil reminds Clint as they make their way up to the roof where they've been told that Smithers is having late afternoon drinks with other residents of the apartment building.

"Yet."

 _Yet,_ Phil agrees silently. "We're only here to ask him what he knows about the magical artifact allegedly bought at his store."

"The kid wasn't lying, Phil."

"I know that, Clint, but we can't just go on his word. It's possible that Smithers didn't know what he was selling."

"Right," Clint scoffs disbelievingly, "Duping a kid out of his life savings and selling him a demon orb to take care of his bullies was an accident."

"Maybe not. Regardless, Smithers is a non-user, so it's more important we find his source of the orbs. The morality of his actions, for now, is secondary."

"The kid would be in jail for murder if he hadn't felt guilty and turned the orb in. He didn't know what Smithers was selling him."

Phil pauses with his hand on the door to the roof. "I understand that, but if we don't find the source of the orbs, there will be others like Smithers who'll be just as willing to sell them and put more people at risk. I promise you that Smithers will be held accountable for his actions."

Clint doesn't respond for a moment and Phil remains steady under the weight of his stare. He wonders how long it will take to get past Clint's natural distrust or how often Phil has to prove himself until Clint stops questioning his sincerity.

"Okay," Clint nods and Phil pushes open the door. 

He doesn't question Clint any further because trust goes both ways. Phil knows by now that Clint may grumble and complain—loudly—about having to work within the bounds of the FBI, but he won't disregard an order from Phil or Fury. What Clint really wants is to help those who can't themselves. Phil speculates that Clint had spent all those years drifting through the Underground criminal networks doling out his own brand of justice. Meeting Natasha had not been an accident because it's likely they were after the same mark. Clint will continue to work with Phil and under the bureaucracy of the FBI for as long as he believes it widens his ability to help others. Phil only wishes he knew the deeper seated motivation beneath Clint's altruism. 

"Mr. Smithers?" Phil asks as he strides through the small gathering. He is reaching into his pocket for his badge when Smithers screeches, drops his glass, and backpedals away from them. Phil forgoes the badge and holds his hands up in an attempt to placate the panicking man. "Mr. Smithers. We just want to ask you some questions."

"Don't think he believes you, Coulson."

Phil's eyes flick to Clint in annoyance and Smithers uses that moment of inattention to grab an orb out of his pocket, smashing it onto the ground in front of him. 

"Creature! Protect me!"

The rooftop erupts into chaos. The other tenants scream and run toward the stairs as the demon emerges from the orb with a terrifying scream. Phil pulls his gun—the familiar feeling of magic tingling against his palm—while a bow and arrow appears in Clint's hands with a quiver hanging from his hip. 

"Creature! Protect me!" Smithers repeats and the demon turns to snarl at him.

"Demons can't be controlled by non-magic users, dumbass," Clint tells him. "That's why dealing orbs is illegal. What do you think, Coulson? I say we let the demon eat him."

As intended, the demon's focus switches to them and they raise their weapons in unison. Before they can fire any shots, the demon turns and flies toward the other side of the roof. It's then that they hear the distant cheering from the high school they had passed on the way to the apartment building. 

"Shit! Make sure he doesn't have more orbs!" Clint yells and runs after the demon before Phil can protest.

He watches Clint fire three arrows in quick succession at the demon's back and then grab a fourth from his quiver. The arrow blazes into purple flame as Clint nocks it and, without breaking stride, jumps off the roof as he fires. Phil watches in horror as Clint falls from view as the demon wails and is consumed by the magical fire.

Phil reaches down with a shaking hand to grab a whimpering Smithers by the back of his collar, the desire to wrap it around his scrawny neck catching Phil by surprise. He walks to the edge of the roof, dragging Smithers behind him and dropping him at his feet before taking a deep breath and peering over. Phil's next breath comes out on a gasp.

Fifteen feet below the edge of the roof is a mass of white fluff—what Phil supposes was intended to be something akin to a spider's web, but looks more like the cotton candy. In the center of the fluff is Clint, clearly stuck and getting more ensnared in the sticky substance as he moves.

"Clint?" Phil croaks out softly, clears his throat, and tries again. "Clint!"

Clint twists, looking up at Phil and then shrugging sheepishly. "So this didn't turn out quite like I planned."

"You jumped off a roof. How the hell was that a plan?"

"Couldn't let the demon get to those kids," Clint answers like it's a viable response. 

Phil has to clench his fists to keep from pulling his gun and shooting the heroic idiot. Clint must sense Phil's anger because he tries to turn himself to better look at Phil, but only succeeds in submerging his arms further into the fluff. He eventually stops struggling and lets his body go lax.

"Little help?"

*  
~~  
~~~~  
^

**3\. The Street**

"Ta da!" 

Clint enters Phil's office with a flourish, brandishing a plate holding a stack of decreasing sized donuts and topped with a candle. He places the plate in front of Phil with a wide grin.

"What—?"

Clint holds up a finger, interrupting Phil, and then uses the finger to point at the wick of the candle. A small flame appears at the end of Clint's finger to light the candle and then goes out as Clint gestures toward the donuts, his smile even wider than earlier. 

"Well?" Clint prompts. 

Phil looks between the candle and Clint's face. "It's not my birthday."

"Duh. Your birthday was back in March."

"Then what occasion are we celebrating?"

Clint sighs like a much-harried housewife and shakes his head before holding a hand out toward Phil. At first, Phil thinks Clint wants him to take his hand, and then a ball of fire appears at the center of it and the lightbulb finally goes on.

"Oh!" Phil quickly blows out the candle and smiles up at Clint. "Happy Anniversary."

Clint flops into Phil's guest chair looking very happy with himself. He starts to toss the little ball of fire between his hands until he sees Phil's pointed look and snuffs it out. Phil sets the candle aside, takes the topmost donut—a powdered one that's sold in packs at convenient stores—and takes a bite. 

"I still can't believe you're addicted to those."

"I am not," Phil refutes, though he really is. 

Clint rolls his eyes disbelievingly and snags the next donut in the stack, taking a bite as there's a knock on the door.

"Come in!" 

Sitwell, another one of the MCU agents, enters. "We just got a call about a disturbance in— Ooh! Donuts." Clint laughs and holds the plate out to Sitwell, who takes one eagerly. "Uh… a disturbance out at that store you guys were scoping out."

"Another demon?" Clint asks, all mirth gone.

"They didn't say. Local police are there keeping the site secure until you get there."

Phil stands and snags a last donut off the plate as they walk out of his office. They're at the store fifteen minutes later where the police have set up a barricade around it, keeping the public away at a safe distance.

"What do we have?" Phil asks the officer in charge.

"Bystanders reported hearing several explosions and seeing smoke. Address is flagged as one of yours and a DNE."

Phil turns toward the store, trying to peer inside through the blown out windows. They've tracked down several other stores dealing demon orbs in the months since the incident on the roof, but have yet to zero in on the source. All stores suspected of dealing in the orbs are immediately marked as 'do not enter' for local law enforcement to prevent any accidental and unnecessary deaths. 

"We'll take it from here. We'd appreciate your help keeping the bystanders out."

"Will do, sir. Good luck."

Phil nods at the officer before walking towards the front of the store with Clint falling into step beside him.

"Explosions?" Phil asks.

"Not from an orb. And if they did release a demon, they don't tend to stay cooped up for long."

"So what do you think?"

"Probably another idiot trying to make gold."

Dealing with amateur alchemists are more Sitwell and May's area. It's amazing how many cases of attempted gold making they deal with regularly, considering the often televised explosive outcomes. An alchemist has to be at least a level six to have a chance at success, but it never keeps the lower level magic users from making the attempt when they're desperate for money or too greedy for their own good. 

"We'll call Sitwell and May once we've checked out the store. What are the chances anyone's still alive in there?"

"Depends on how much they were trying to make. At least it's still standing."

They each take a step closer to the storefront and then everything goes to hell. 

"Phil! Get down!"

Phil is hurled several feet sideways as gunfire rings out. He hits the pavement hard and when he looks up, the interior of the store is engulfed in purple flames. The officers behind the barricade have drawn their weapons—thankfully pointed at the store—and Clint is standing in the middle of the street with his bow in his hand. The flames quickly die out and then there's nothing but silence. Whoever had fired those shots is no longer a concern.

The police officers slowly lower their weapons, looking at Clint warily as his bow retracts into his hand and disappears. Phil swears, eyes widening, when he sees the tell-tale hole on the back of Clint's jacket along with the quickly spreading dark stain. He scrambles to his feet and rushes toward Clint, who hasn't moved.

"They shot at you," Clint says softly as Phil reaches his side. 

"I need an ambulance!" Phil yells as Clint finally staggers into his arms. "You'll be okay Clint, just hold on."

"They shot at you."

Clint grows heavier in his arms and Phil lowers them both gently to the ground. "I'm okay Clint. Thanks to you. Just hang on. Help's coming. Hang on."

~

The bullet was a through and through, but Clint is still in surgery for several hours as the surgeons repair the damage it made tearing through Clint's shoulder. Phil sits, first in the waiting room and then in the chair next to Clint's bed, until Clint's eyes flutter open.

"You're here," Clint says, voice hoarse.

Phil grabs the nearby water cup and brings the straw to Clint's lips. "Shhh. Don't try and talk. Of course I'm here. You're my partner."

"Nobody's ever stayed before."

Phil suddenly can't talk past the lump in his throat and the tightness in his chest. He blames the stress of the last few hours and settles for brushing his fingers soothingly over Clint's brow and through his hair. Clint sighs contentedly, leaning into the touch. It takes a long time for Phil to find his voice again.

"I'm here, Clint. I'll always be here."

*  
~~  
~~~~  
^

**4\. The Club**

Phil walks into his office to a familiar sight, Clint laid out along his couch with his hand over his eyes—another migraine. Phil closes the door gently behind him, walks to the window, and shuts the blinds. Clint never thinks to do it himself, but is always grateful when Phil does. 

"Thought we had a lead?" Clint mumbles. 

"Intel says he won't show at the club until tonight. You have time for a nap and to take some of that potion Bruce made."

The bullet Clint took for Phil has become a tipping point for them. Six months ago, Clint would have worked through and hidden the pain. Now—through countless hours spent together during Clint's recovery and after—Phil knows that the migraines are an artifact of Clint's steadily increasing powers. He had been properly tested and registered as a level three at fifteen, only to realize years later that he was capable of much more. Clint and his brother, both already performers at the circus, had hidden his new abilities in fear of Clint being taken away to be studied. When his brother had later tried to convince Clint to use his new abilities to steal from the circus, they'd parted ways and Clint had gone Underground. 

The true extent of Clint's powers now is unknown—he has never been retested and he won't risk going through any proper training with higher level magic users. Only a handful of people know the truth, that Clint's powers are continuing to grow, while others have been led to believe that Clint was incorrectly registered when he was younger. 

"Come on, Clint," Phil prods, taking a vial out of his desk drawer and walking over to place it gently in Clint's hand. "You know it will just get worse if you don't take the potion now."

Clint grumbles, but sits up and dutifully swallows the contents of the vial, making a customary bitter face at the taste. Phil then prods him to lay back down, covering him with the light blanket that had migrated to his office from Clint's apartment months ago, and runs a gentle hand across his forehead. 

"I'll wake you in a few hours."

Phil waits until Clint has shuffled into a more comfortable position before returning to his desk and taking a seat. He turns on the small desk lamp to prevent the overhead lights from disturbing Clint's sleep, fully intending to get some paperwork done. He instead spends long moments watching Clint's sleeping form and reflecting on how he's broken all of Phil's personal rules. Phil has let Clint get too close, become too important, and yet he can't make himself regret any of it. 

He knows it will be a dangerous and delicate path to navigate—getting emotionally involved with his partner—and Phil would be more concerned if he didn't firmly believe that Clint is just as willing to walk it with him. They've taken things slow so far, with both of them hesitant to take that first step that brings them beyond friendship, but the tension is mounting between them and it's no longer a question of if they'll take that step, only when.

Clint shifts a little in his sleep and Phil shakes himself out of his thoughts, finally focusing on the paperwork in front of him. He works steadily for a couple of hours with the rise and fall of Clint's breathing sounding quietly in the background. Phil wakes Clint with plenty of time to head to the club, returning his sleepy smile before they each get ready to chase their latest lead on the source of the demon orbs. 

The intel they received from Natasha is that a unregistered magic user—one strong enough to summon and contain a demon—frequents one of the local clubs in Chinatown. Their goal is to blend in, hang out for a few hours, and wait to see if the magic user shows up. Phil forgoes his usual suit in exchange for dark jeans and a powder blue, v-necked sweater, while Clint looks delectable in skinny jeans, a tight purple t-shirt, and his battered leather jacket. 

Everything looks normal when they enter the club. The decor is tasteful, the lighting subdued, and the clientele are the right age for them to fit in. Clint, however, freezes a few steps past the threshold. Phil glances around and notices more than one pair of eyes looking in their direction. 

"Clint, what—"

The rest of Phil's words are stalled when Clint wraps a strong arm around his waist, turning them so that their bodies are pressed together from knee to chest. Clint's eyes look apologetic and that's all the warning Phil gets before their lips meet for the first time. The kiss is chaste, but lingering—firm enough that Phil knows it's not only for the benefit of onlookers. It's the type of kiss you'd give to a longtime lover and Phil returns it easily, letting Clint know that the kiss is not unwanted. 

They eventually break apart and Clint gives him a soft smile. "Thanks for coming here with me."

"Anything for you. Do you want a drink or a dance?"

Clint looks toward the bar and then the dance floor, giving him an ample excuse to scan the entirety of the club. "I think a dance."

"Lead the way."

Phil takes Clint's hand as they make their way to where a few other couples are slowly swaying to the music. The floor is big enough room for them to choose a secluded corner before they wrap their arms around each other. Phil has to work hard not to get distracted by how amazing it feels to be this close to Clint. 

"Everyone here are couples," he whispers into Clint's ear, who shivers and takes a moment to respond. 

"Yeah. I've never been to one, but I recognize it. It's a bonding club. Couples come here hoping that they'll be told that their souls are compatible for bonding. My guess is that the unregistered is the one playing priest."

"Bonding? I thought that was an old wive's tale?"

"That kind of compatibility is rare, rarer still to find it in someone you're willing to be bonded to for life. But you can't fake a bond. This club has been around a while, so whoever this unregistered is, he's for real."

Phil nods and pulls Clint a tad closer. They're here until the priest shows up and he's not beyond enjoying himself while they wait. Clint seems to agree a little too much, tucking his face into Phil's neck and then brushing his lips tantalizingly against the sensitive skin. 

"Behave," Phil warns with a squeeze to Clint's hip. 

Clint chuckles throatily, but complies and moves until they're dancing cheek to cheek. "You ruin all my fun."

Phil is about to quip back when there's a sudden commotion at the door. They stop dancing and look over to where several couples are crowded by the entrance. Both of them tense as the priest steps further inside and the crowd parts to let him through. Phil isn't expecting for Clint to laugh once the priest is in view. 

"That's no demon summoner, that's Steve."

While Clint's voice wasn't really loud enough to carry, the priest still glances their way. His surprise quickly melts into fond annoyance—a fairly common reaction for those who've spent any length of time with Clint—as he excuses himself from the crowd and walks toward Phil and Clint.

"Clinton," he greets formally and then opens his arms for Clint to step into. They hug like old friends before the priest turns to Phil with an outstretched hand. "Stephen Strange."

"Phil Coulson." 

"It is nice to see that Clinton has found his mate."

"Oh!" Clint's eyes go wide for a second before he shakes his head. "It's not... He doesn't... Phil's my partner. He's FBI. I work with them now."

Stephen raises a skeptical eyebrow, but doesn't press Clint on the correction. "Then how may I be of help to the FBI?"

"We've been trying to track down a high level magic user who's making and selling demon orbs."

"And you thought _I_ would do something so immoral?"

"No, no," Clint is quick to correct. "We didn't know you'd be here tonight. All we heard was that an unregistered came to this club. I know you wouldn't do anything like that."

"As you should. Unfortunately, I have no answers for you, but I will reach out to those to whom you cannot. Whomever is dealing in such dangerous magic must be stopped."

"Thanks doc. Be careful."

"Always," Stephen says and then steps forward to pull Clint into another warm embrace. Phil has to stamp down on a wave of jealousy, wondering what Clint and Stephen's relationship must have been for Clint to allow his touch so casually. "It is nice to see you have found your true path, my friend."

Clint shrugs as he pulls back. "Like you said, with great power comes great responsibility."

"We do what our hearts says we must. And I must now get back to these eager couples looking for the other half of their soul."

With a last nod of acknowledgement at Phil, Stephen turns away and moves to where the other couples have arranged themselves into an orderly line in another corner of the dance floor. Clint motions towards the front door and they quickly make their way out of the club. It's not until they're several blocks away in the car that Clint speaks.

"Strange really is a good guy. I know he's unregistered, but it's not because he's trying to hide something evil."

"It's okay, Clint. I trust your judgement." Clint beams at him and Phil focuses back on the road for a moment before broaching the next subject. "How well do you know Stephen Strange?"

"Huh? _Oh._ Not like that. Well… we did have sex once, but I think he was just being kind cuz he knew I had a crush on him? He took me in after the circus and helped where he could to focus my magic. I don't feel that way about him anymore. He's a good friend, like Nat."

"Okay."

They drive in silence the rest of the way and neither of them immediately move to get out of the car once Phil has pulled into a spot in front of his apartment. The air inside is charged with anticipation. This is finally the moment that they've been building toward.

Phil eventually turns to face Clint as he turns to match him and they each lean in. Their lips meet once again and this kiss is the one of new beginnings, intimate and small with a heated promise of much more to come. 

"Come up with me?"

"Yes."

*  
~~  
~~~~  
^

**5\. The Underground**

Clint moans long and loud underneath him and Phil thinks, not for the first time, that his heart could burst from the love shining from Clint's eyes. It's amazing to know that they're still equally affected each time they come together. Phil has had many sexual partners in his life, but nothing compares to the feeling of sliding inside Clint as his body yields and accepts him almost greedily. He wonders what he is showing to Clint in return, but doesn't try to hide the wealth of emotion he's feeling. 

Phil pauses once he's fully sheathed inside Clint and Clint reaches up, pulling him down for a kiss. He lets himself sink into the kiss, their tongues tangling, until the need to move becomes too much to ignore. Phil shifts his hips and Clint gasps out of the kiss, his neck arching beautifully as he throws his head back with another moan. Their bodies move in tandem, with Clint's hips bucking up eagerly to meet each of Phil's thrusts. This time, it's not quite enough and Phil slides out, soothing Clint's disappointed whine with a kiss as Phil nudges him to turn over. Phil slides back inside with a satisfied groan and Clint echoes him as Phil begins to move again, his thrusts deeper and more powerful from this position. Clint drops down to his shoulders, freeing his hand to stroke himself, and is soon shuddering and clenching around Phil as his orgasm hits. Phil follows quickly after and they collapse in a sated heap on the bed.

"That just keeps getting better," Clint mumbles into the pillow and Phil can only hum in agreement. 

Phil forces himself out of the bed a minute later, knowing that cuddling with Clint and falling asleep may be tempting, but leads to less than savory results in the morning. He gets rid of the condom and cleans himself up in the bathroom, and has just wet a washcloth to take back to Clint when he hears him yelp and swear. Phil runs back into the bedroom to find Clint sitting up against the headboard with a pillow in his lap. There is a glowing red ball of light hovering a few feet over the bed and Phil starts to go for his gun, stopping when Clint yells at the ball in annoyance.

"Fuck, Steve! You can't just come barging in without notice. People might be, uh… busy."

"How many times must I tell you, it's Stephen? And I cannot see you, only hear you, Clinton."

"Still. A few minutes earlier and you would have gotten an—" 

"Do you have some information for us?" Phil interrupts before Clint can say any more.

"I've found your summoner. What's worse, I have heard he is now summoning demons in great numbers and holding them Underground. He's amassing an army."

"A demon army? Why?"

"Why else does anyone ever need an army?"

"It's Loki, isn't it?" Clint asks.

"Yes, it is Loki."

"Who's Loki?"

"Another unregistered," Stephen answers. "The worst of our kind. Arrogant and self serving. Preying on the weakest of us."

"He talked a good game—about magic users getting more respect," Clint adds, "but all Loki was really doing was enthralling weaker magic users to steal their powers."

"That's possible?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Stephen sighs. "It's rarely successful and the results often deadly for so little return."

"Loki was killing people?"

"Yes. And he would have continued to do so unabated had Clinton not stopped him."

"All I did was show everyone what he was really doing."

"At risk to your own mind. You did not know then that you were strong enough to resist him."

"I wasn't about to let him take Nat."

Phil puts a comforting hand on Clint's shoulder to let him know that he understands the decision Clint made, the decision that put him down the path to where they are now. "And now this Loki is creating a demon army. Any idea how many he's summoned?"

"No. There is no one willing to go near his lair."

"That's understandable. Thank you Stephen. If you can, send word out for others to stay well clear. We'll need time to gather reinforcements, but it sounds like we need to move on this as soon as we're able." The Underground is a series of tunnels built by the mafia beneath the city during Prohibition that has since become a city of its own, filled mostly by homeless, gangs, and unregistered magic users. Although the city sees it as a nuisance, Phil knows that there could still be innocents in the line of fire. 

"I will do what I can. Be safe my friends."

"Thank you Stephen."

"Thanks Steve."

The ball of light disappears and Phil wraps an arm around Clint's shoulders, holding him close. 

"Are you going to be okay?"

Clint turns a little further into Phil and nods. "Thought I'd seen the last of that monster, but yeah. I'll be okay."

They stay like that for a moment before Phil finally hands Clint the washcloth and prods them both into bed to sleep. He has a feeling they'll need their rest for the days ahead.

~

Fury gathers the entire MCU and calls in an extra SWAT team to destroy Loki's lair. Clint magics every weapon with the same power contained within his flaming arrows and Phil's gun. It takes him nearly an entire day to accomplish it and saps so much of his energy that Phil and Nick agree to delay the raid another day to allow him to rest, which also gives them time to wait for Natasha to join them.

They storm into the Underground at dawn—knowing that demons are slower and weaker in the daylight, even if the sun is blocked by the city above them. The demons attack almost immediately, easily four times their numbers, but they have Clint's magic on their side. They cut through the hordes of demons with only a few casualties and Phil knows they must be winning the battle when Loki himself enters the fray. 

Phil hears one of the SWAT team members scream in pain and looks over to see Loki readying to bring his scepter down on the fallen agent, only to be pushed back by one of Clint's arrows. Loki fires a blast of energy at Clint, which he easily blocks, before firing a barrage of arrows at Loki. Phil starts to move toward them and then sees a demon approaching Clint's back explode—Natasha has him covered. He refocuses on calling orders out to the other agents, corralling the demons to an area where they can be easily surrounded and destroyed. The strategy works and they've culled all but a handful of demons when Clint shouts out a warning. 

"The bastard can teleport! Watch yourselves!"

Pain erupts in Phil's chest a second later and he looks down in shock at the tip of Loki's scepter, now stained with his blood. Loki laughs maniacally behind him, but is suddenly cut off by a wail of pain as the scepter is pulled out and away from Phil's body. His knees buckle and then strong arms come around him to soften his fall to the ground. Phil looks up at Clint, knowing that this is likely their last moments together.

"Clint, I…"

Clint's eyes go wide when he realizes that Phil is trying to say goodbye. "No. No, damn it. You are not going to die on me. I won't… I can't…" Clint closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then opens them as he places his hands over the wound on Phil's chest. "I love you, Phil."

Clint closes his eyes in concentration and a slow warmth begins to spread from the center of Phil's chest outward. It's pleasant, almost soothing, at first and then it begins to burn hotter and hotter. Phil's back arches off the ground, his body trying to escape the pain, but Clint only presses down harder. The pain intensifies until Phil has no choice but to let the darkness claim him.

*  
~~  
~~~~  
^

**+1. The Hospital**

Phil opens the curtains to let in the early morning sun and takes his usual seat next to the bed, placing his hand over Clint's still one. It's been five days since they won the battle with Loki's demons and Clint has yet to wake. The doctors say that he's asleep, not in a coma, and Stephen says that his body needs time to regain the strength that the magic took from him. Nobody knows how Clint was able to heal Phil. 

"Nick came by last night," Phil says—to make sure Phil went home to eat and sleep, he doesn't say. "He's thinking of creating a new team. Similar to SWAT, but trained to deal with extreme magic users like Loki. It would be a small team. You and Natasha, along with a few others, and I'd be your liaison, of sorts, into the MCU. I told him we'd talk about it when you woke up."

Phil turns their hands, bending down to place a kiss on Clint's hand, and then just resting his head his head on the mattress next to it. He goes home to avoid worrying the others, but sleep doesn't come easily. The bed feels too empty without Clint.

"Retiring on a deserted island would be good too. We could spend the rest of lives as beach bums and you'd never be in danger again."

Phil closes his eyes and lets the steady rise and fall of Clint's breathing comfort him. He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until he wakes to the feeling of gentle fingers carding through his hair. 

"Mmmm. Five more minutes."

"You look like you could use way more than five minutes. What have you been doing to yourself without me?"

Phil's eyes snap open to find Clint smiling tiredly at him. He bolts upright and lunges forward, gathering Clint into a tight embrace. "You're awake!"

"Yeah. Seriously, Phil. You look like crap."

"I look like—" Phil sits back with a shake of his head. "You've been unconscious for nearly a week. They couldn't tell me if or when you'd ever wake up."

"Sorry? But you're okay?"

"I'm fine. Not even a small scar. Not even Stephen can explain how you managed to heal so much damage."

"I wasn't sure I could either, but I had to try."

Phil brings their foreheads together with a sigh. "You have to stop sacrificing yourself for me."

"I'd like not to need to again either. But as fun as a deserted island sounds, I'm not sure we're cut out for that kind of life. Not yet, anyway."

Phil shifts until he can give Clint a kiss and then pulls away with a nod. "You're probably right. I guess a two week honeymoon will have to tide us over for now." Clint's jaw drops and Phil takes his hand in both of his. "I love you, Clint. I can't imagine my life without you. I want to marry you and, if you're willing, bond with you."

"You want to bond?"

"Yes. Stephen explained that we're compatible, more so than anyone else he's bonded."

"Did he explain what it means? We'd be connected forever—there is no undoing it. If one of us died, the other..."

Phil nods. "I understand. It's what I want, if you're willing."

"Yes. YES!" Clint laughs and pulls Phil in for another kiss. "Yes. I want nothing more than to marry you and bond with you. When?"

"As soon as Stephen says you're strong enough."

"Okay, yeah. Come 'ere." Clint shuffles over to make room for Phil to sit next to him on the bed and Phil complies, wrapping an arm around him as Clint lets out a huge yawn. "I hear bonded sex is amazing."

Phil chuckles as Clint lets out another yawn and soon falls into a doze. He shifts then until they're both laying down with Clint's head resting against Phil's heart, letting his own eyes slip closed. He can't wait to see where life takes them next.

~ _fin_ ~


End file.
